The Nine Lives of Katherine Beckett
by caffinate-me
Summary: Nine times. She had remembered each of them vividly as he had listed them off; she knew them by heart, just as she knew all of the time she had saved his life. Some spoilers for Cops & Robbers. 1st in The Numbers Series.
1. Chapter 1

The Nine Lives of Katherine Beckett

Disclaimer: Castle belongs to Andrew Marlowe and ABC. I am not either of these.

A/N: Here is a story that just popped into my head after Monday's episode. There are mild spoilers for Cops & Robbers! It can stand as a one-shot or be continued, just let me know what you think. Enjoy and as always, reviews are love! :)

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><p>The Nine Lives of Katherine Beckett<p>

Kate lay in her bed staring at her ceiling; the red glow of the digital alarm clock glowing in the corner of her eye. One of her hands, rested on her belly, picking mindlessly at the cotton fabric of her tank top. The other one was bent up so it lay resting by her ear, occasionally twirling a lock of hair her fingers had wandered into. Over the course of dinner he had listed off the nine times that he had saved her life. She had tried to argue with some of them, of course, but he had always countered. One of his rebuttals even ended with him taking away one of her "saves" of him as a penalty point.

She went over the list so many times in her head. Nine times. She had remembered each of them vividly as he had listed them off. She knew them by heart, just as she knew all of the time she had saved his life. They played like a film in her head: black, white and in color. She remembered that look he gave her in the split second before he had pulled all of the wires out of the bomb. She remembered the look of resolution, guilt and sorrow when he had held her against the car, stroking her face and hair, after carrying her kicking and screaming out of the helicopter hanger. She remembered every one of the nine times he had listed, and now, whenever she closed her eyes, she saw them playing in an endless cycle of fear, anger and relief.

Kate turned her head to look at the clock. 3:45am. She hadn't wanted to leave the loft earlier; where she could see him, hear him, touch him. That was where she could reassure herself that he was alive. If anyone had asked, she could have sworn her heart had stopped beating in the moment she had felt the bomb go off. The entire trailer had shaken underneath her and her brain froze. Everything froze. The trailer shook and the world went still. She forgot to breathe; she forgot to think. She had thought about Martha, who was probably so scared in the bank. She had thought about the promise she had made to Alexis to bring her family back alive, but mostly she had thought about that look. That look of totally faith he had given her when she had come in to get "Sal". He had told her in those moments that he had complete faith in her; that she would get them all out of this. He had told her with that look in his eyes; that look of complete faith and love.

He loved her enough to trust her with his life, the life of his mother and the life of his daughter. When that bomb went off she knew that she had failed him, but when the smoke cleared there he was alive, well and completely whole. She had wanted to look at him, to make sure he wasn't bruised or broken. She had wanted to cling to him and never let go again, if only to make sure that he was real. At the precinct and the loft she had barely let him out of her sight. She had stared at the door when he had excused himself to the restroom, all priority of catching a killer temporarily fleeing her mind until she was sure that he was still whole and coming back to her.

It wasn't until the first bite of food had hit her stomach that she remembered to be hungry. They had argued, teased and laughed over the list while gorging themselves on the feast Martha had made. Martha had called them drama queens as they recounted their perspective lists. Some of the scenarios getting over exaggerated by Castle, while she had tried to downplay some of the more dangerous situations for Alexis's benefit. Ironically, it was mostly her downplayed situations that were called out as being too far fetched. Apparently, neither of them could believe she would dress up like a Russian hooker. She should be flattered.

Alexis had quietly excused herself up to her room after dinner, but not before giving her father an extra long hug and whispering 'thank you' to Kate over his shoulder. The girl had been though hell in the past few hours but the resolution and strength was still there. Alexis was tough; she could handle anything as long as her family was there to support her. Kate remembered that feeling; she remembered what it felt like to loose it. She prayed that Alexis never knew what that felt like- like the world that you built, that you loved was ripped out from under you. She sighed into the dark, silent room. She prayed that she never had to feel it again, either. She prayed like she had earlier when she first heard the bank robbers' shouts over the phone. She prayed like she had when the world shook still as the bomb exploded. She prayed to a God she wasn't quiet sure she believed in to save the lives and the souls of the people she loved.

A few moments after Alexis went up stairs, Martha excused herself with just the right amount of flourish, startling Castle and her from one of their silent conversations they had unknowingly fallen into.

"She's not tired," Castle stage whispered, as the diva exited stage right. "She just doesn't want to do the dishes."

They fell into a simple silent routine as they did the dishes. It was a startling display of domesticity— she washing, while he dried. The increasing amounts of wine coursing through both of their systems causing their hands to linger a little bit too long as the dishes were passed. She could feel him looking at her, as if to make sure she was actually there with him, up to her elbows in soapsuds and dirty dishwater, still alive and well. Wasn't she the one that was supposed to be making sure he was breathing this time? It was his turn. He had just reached number eight and hopefully they would never see the day she reached number ten. Hopefully number ten was years away when they were old and grey and telling their great grandchildren stories about the good old days— the adventures of Castle and Beckett.

Who was she kidding; he had already reached number ten.

She turned her head to stare out the window into the artificially lit New York night. She had redone her apartment during her recent leave time. Her bedroom walls were painted a warm, deep tan and her large overflowing bookcase was now more organized: alphabetically and by genre. It had been a way to bring a little bit of order to the chaos her life had fallen into. Her eyes drifted to the framed photos hanging on the wall. The light from the streetlamps filtered in through the spaces in the dark red curtains and set a slight glow to the faces of her parents on their wedding day and the boys horsing around at the station. There were others; photos of friends and of the life she had built around her, but her eyes only scanned over those briefly before falling to the single framed picture that sat at her bedside. The silver frame glowed red next to the alarm clock as it read 3:53am. She studied their faces as she remembered the night it had been taken. The four of them had been sitting around The Old Haunt for hours nursing beers, eating chili cheese fries and trying to one-up each other with stories when Castle challenged her to a game of darts.

Ryan had snapped the picture with out either of their knowledge. He caught a picture of her in profile- hair in a messy braid hanging down over her shoulder and her eyes squinted as she tried to focus through her alcohol-induced haze. Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. But even though she was in the front, the focus wasn't on her, it was on Castle who was leaning against a pool table beside her, facing the camera. He was looking at her, laughing, with a full smile on his face and his eyes shown only of happiness and love.

She knew it was love because he had told her. He had told her he loved her. He had said three words that had resounded in her mind as she lay dying on the cool green grass. They were the last words she heard before she had passed out and they were the first words she had remembered when she woke up. Those words had made her heart start beating again. A single tear traced a line down her temple before falling to the pillow under her head.

Before she knew what was happening she was up out of bed with a hooded sweatshirt over her tank top, her feet were stuffed into a pair of boots and she was standing with her hand posed to knock on Castle's door. As her knuckles rapped quietly on the wood she glanced around. How had she gotten there? With a shuffle, the door in front of her opened revealing a very confused Castle.

"Kate, what are you doing here?"

Why was she here?

She looked at him as her brain fought to form a response. He wore a faded green robe hanging wide open over a white t-shirt and plaid flannel pajama pants. His face looked tired but it was clear by his lack of bed-head and sleep in his eyes that he hadn't slept yet either. He was looking at her while she was looking at him, studying her face with such a look of concern. It was 4:30 in the morning and she was standing outside of his apartment in her pajamas. She looked up and met his eyes, reading everything in them. Suddenly she felt brave.

"Ten," she blurted out in her fleeting moment of courage. "You've saved my life ten times."

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><p>So, what do you think? Should I continue?<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

The Nine Lives of Katherine Beckett

Disclaimer: Not mine. I promise.

A/N: Wow, so you guys totally rock! You all totally overwhelmed me with your response to the first chapter. Thank you so much! Seriously, I got more reviews on that chapter than I have on any others that I have posted. I am so glad you like it! In any case, by popular demand, here is chapter 2 and remember, reviews are love so let me know what you think! :)

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><p><span>Chapter 2<span>

Rick had been staring at the blinking cursor on the blank word document for hours. Kate had left earlier with a hug that had lasted a little bit too long; her body pressed fully against his as her arms wrapped snuggly around his neck. He had gladly given up the few seconds of oxygen to have her there, with him. They stood there, clinging to each other for countless seconds before she had whispered softly into his ear that she should go home, the 'before I can't' lingering silently behind. After he had watched her board the elevator with a small wave of her fingers and a shy smile he had gone back to take an extra long shower; the hot water effectively washing away the drywall dust and smell of the ash and C4 residue.

His brain continued to spin through the physical exhaustion so he sat at his keyboard, fingers posed, but no words came. They all simply continued to fly around; spinning circles in his mind while the curser blinked him into a daze. He had no idea how long he had sat there lost in his own thoughts when the light tapping on the door jerked him out of his mind and back into reality. The small digital numbers on his laptop screen read 4:32.

What the hell?

Glancing around his desk, he picked up the first possible weapon he saw and stumbled across the dark living room, stapler in hand, skirting furniture with deft feet. Cracking the door open, he felt like he should be more surprised to see Beckett standing on his doorstep at 4:30 in the morning, but she probably was the least shocking option. He swung the door open and took in the woman standing before him.

"Kate, what are you doing here?" His question was quiet but it reverberated through the silence of the hallway and his sleeping apartment.

She didn't answer. She was staring at him, studying him. He took the opportunity to do the same. Too say she looked adorable was an understatement. She stood in front of him, eyes half closed in a sleepy haze. She looked confused, like she wasn't quite sure what she was doing there either. Her wavy hair, slightly matted from her pillow, a faded NYU sweatshirt handing limply off of her, post bullet, too-thin frame. Uggs and Batman pajama pants adorned her lower body. He would have cracked a smile at the black pants patterned with the Bat Symbol if her silence weren't beginning to scare him.

He was about to speak up, to reach out and shake her out of her daze, when her eyes shot up and met his. Her eyes swirled from hazel to brown to green and the intensity he found there reverberated through the hallway and shook his soul.

"Ten. You've saved my life ten times."

She was looking him straight in the eye, searching them for a response but his brain was still grasping for context. He had counted very carefully. Hell, he had a running tally in a document in a file on his computer. Dates, cases, descriptions of the situation and who saved whom. He had saved her life nine times. He stood looking at her in the soft light of the hallway. When she failed to elaborate, to offer anything more to her single cryptic statement, he let out a sigh and swung the door open in silent invitation.

He watched her as she stepped over the threshold and shuffle her way across the wood floor. Her shoulders were hunched with her hands stuffed in the front pocket of her sweatshirt as she made her way towards the couch with him trailing behind her like a puppy dog. He bent over and placed the stapler on the table before settling down on the cushion next to her. In a swift movement, he gathered up her legs and swung them around until they lay across his lap. She let out a little squeak as he pulled her down and caused her body to twist around in her seat. He waited while she squirmed and adjusted herself into a more comfortable position and smiled when she made no move to take back her legs.

When she continued to be silent he started to pick at the fabric of her pajama pants, studiously staring at her cloth covered, slightly bent knees. Kate snuggled deeper into the couch, her hands now playing with the strings that hung down the front of her top.

"These are awesome pajamas by the way. I always knew you were a Batman fan," Castle said, effectively breaking the comfortable silence.

He received a shy but amused smile in return.

"You want some coffee?" He tried again, when she still failed to speak. This time he was gifted with a silent shake of her head.

Okay…

They sat in silence for few more minutes, Kate staring off into space and Castle staring at her, his hand rubbing slow circles on her shin. Her hands continued to play with the strings of her hoodie— twisting them, tying them, untying them, bringing one of the plastic ends up to her lips to chew.

"Kate," he started again softly. "Not that I am complaining, but why are you here?"

She turned her head slowly to face him and after her moment she lifted her shoulders and let them fall into a shrug. Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet as it snuck past her lips. "I just wanted to be here."

Rick tried to contain the silly smile that threatened to split his face wide open. She wanted to be there. It may not be a full response, but he momentarily pushed down the lingering feeling that there were so many more thoughts unspoken in her head. He would take it for now; she wanted to be there, with him.

"Okay."

She nodded again at his acceptance of her fragment of an answer and snuggled deeper into the cushion once again as her head drifted back to rest against the arm of the couch and her eyes drifted shut.

He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him to dig deeper, to pester her until she finally gave in and told him what was going on in that gorgeous brain of hers. He tried to stay happy and content that she was here, snuggled against him, her legs resting happily over his lap, her boot-clad toes tapping gently at the air. He tried to let her be cryptic and mysterious, but that voice kept pestering him, whispering in his ear that everything was not right. There was something wrong and he couldn't just sit here in denial. He couldn't let her sit in denial. He loved her too much for that. He felt the frustration begin to bubble up in his chest. He loved her, damn it. He loved her and he had finally mustered up the courage to tell her and now he had to do it all over again, because she didn't remember.

Now, she was sitting here with that stupid wall built up around her heart, stubborn as always. It was five fucking o'clock in the morning. Of course, something was bothering her. A person doesn't run across the city in their pajamas in the middle of the night because nothing is bothering them. Kate doesn't do that. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh, forcing his thoughts to calm. He glanced to his side and saw the glint of a single tear slide out of the corner of her eye. She made no other sign of sadness; no sniffled breaths, no hiccupped coughs; just one single tear sliding silently into her hair.

"Kate?" he finally tried again quietly and he heard her whimper as his hand stopped stroking her leg. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Her eyes drifted back open, blinking at him sleepily, unwept tears leaking onto her eyelashes. He watched as she looked around the dark, still apartment, the ticking of the wall-clock providing the only sound besides their breathing. He watched her eyes scan and study all of the objects in sight. He saw her vision linger on the stapler on the coffee table. Her gaze fell to the rug and her finger picked at the couch cushion beside her hip. He held his breath as she finally opened her lips and took in a breath to speak.

"Why were you holding a stapler?"


	3. Chapter 3

The Nine Lives of Katherine Beckett

A/N: Once again, thank you so much for all of your response to this story. Seriously, you all rock and I am completely overwhelmed. I really appreciate all of your kind words and constructive criticism. To answer one question I couldn't answer through private message: I believe Kate got into Stanford, but didn't go there. I think it was said somewhere in season one that she went to NYU, but I could be wrong about that. :)

Here is Chapter 3. I believe there will only be one more chapter beyond this, but who knows inspiration might strike for me to write more. Remember, reviews are love. :)

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><p><span>Chapter 3<span>

She really had intended to tell him, to let him know that she had heard, that she remembered, that she felt the same way about him. But in that intimate moment, sitting snuggled up against him on the couch in his warm, dark, comforting apartment, his features illuminated in the grey light of morning she felt the words fail her.

He stared at her, a mixture of shock, amusement and anger on his face.

"Because I couldn't find the letter opener."

That tone wasn't happy.

She paused, her heart beating too hard in her chest. She had to tell him, she owed him that. She owes him so much; the last thing he deserved was for her to run again, to make stupid jokes, but her mouth just wouldn't stop. She winced internally as the stupid sarcastic comments fell out of her.

"Seriously, Castle? What were you planning to do if there was a crazy person behind the door, staple them to death? Go _Office Space_ on their ass? Ooh, scary."

She really was curious about the stapler. Honest.

"Kate." His tone was soft this time, full of warning. It was the tone a parent would use on a temperamental child. She squirmed in her seat, frantically wishing to run but willing herself to stay. She was so good at avoiding, at running and deflecting her true emotions with sarcastic comments. At least, that is what her therapist had told her. She was good at running and hiding, at building up that wall. She felt Castle's hands tighten on her legs just above the top of her boots effectively holding her legs in place. He wasn't going to let her play this game this time; he wasn't going to let her run.

She watched his hands on her legs. His left hand pressed against her shin while the other was placed directly above her kneecap. The thumb on his right hand was gently rubbing the soft skin on the side of her knee, lulling a sense of calm into her. They had been sitting like this for close to an hour and he had made no moves to "explore" the area further up her thigh. No innuendo had made it passed his lips and there had been no playfulness in his eyes or voice. He was serious and he was worried. He was worried about her.

He had grown up over the course of the last three years. He wasn't the same immature, reckless child she had met at that book party. Granted, he was still immature at times and could be reckless but there was a wisdom in him now. He hid it artfully, but she could see it. She knew him the same way he knew her: inside and out.

She let her eyes slide shut, a tear running down her cheek as her head lulled slightly to the side, her hand rising up to cup her face. She was about to hurt him, not that she wanted to, but because she had to. She had lied to him about something so important. Now he deserved to know the truth and the truth would hurt him.

"I remember," she confessed so quietly she wasn't sure if he heard her or not. "You saved my life because I heard you. I heard everything. I remember everything."

She sat there, eyes closed, epitomizing the two year-olds "if I can't see him, he can't see me" philosophy. It was easier if she could avoid his reaction; talk and bolt, but she couldn't leave this time. This was too significant. This was everything. Slowly she peeked her eyes open and forced her head to face him, to look inside his expressive blue eyes. She was prepared for anger, for hurt, for confusion. She was not prepared for the complete lack of emotion that she saw.

His thumb ceased its soothing motion and she felt all ten of his fingers dig a little bit deeper into her legs. The pressure was not enough to hurt but as his thumb dug into her muscle she couldn't help but think that she would have a bruise. Kate's breath caught in her chest and she let out a soft hiccup as her lungs burned for oxygen. She needed to remember to breathe, but she couldn't with that hollow expression staring back at her.

"Castle," she pleaded after too many moments of heavy silence.

His hands came up off of her legs and moved to wipe down over his face. Just as swift as when he lifted her legs into his lap he pushed them back off, swatting them away in a movement that left her body twisted. He leaned forward to sit hunched, his elbows resting on his knees as his hands ran continuously through his hair. She scrambled to push herself into a sitting position and brought her knees up to her chin, curling herself as far into the sofa as possible. She rested her chin on top of her knees and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. His silence was deafening.

"Rick, please."

There was still no response, no acknowledgement.

He looked turned and looked at her like she was a stranger, an unknown being curled up next to him on his couch. Suddenly he bolted out of his seat. She watched as he paced around the living room, his hands ringing, flailing silently, and rubbing though his hair as he had a silent argument in his head.

Kate's eyes slid closed again, unable to watch him anymore, and she felt the emotion begin to swell up in her. The emotion of those three words, and of the past twenty-four hours: thinking she had lost him in that explosion and suddenly getting him back again. The levity of dinner and the worry turned anger in his eyes. She had seen him be worried, confused and hurt before. She had done all of that to him, but she had never made him angry. Not like this. She had never hurt him like this before.

She felt him stop in front of her as the tears she hadn't wept in months swelled up in her eyes and the sobs began to hiccup in her throat. She tried to control it, she tried to stop her shoulders from shaking and she tried to stop the sniffled breaths but they just kept coming. Uncontrollable sobs racking her body. She could feel the tears and snot sliding down her face as she wept, gasping for breath through her sobs. She hadn't meant to lie, she hadn't meant to hurt him, and she hadn't meant to show up at his apartment in the middle of the night and sob on his couch. She cried for him, for Alexis, for Martha. She cried for herself and her father. She cried because of the pain the sobs caused when they pulled at the scar that circled around under the breast and down across her side. She cried for that constant reminder that she shouldn't be here still, that she wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. She cried because he had almost died today and she had done something reckless, something that should have caused him to get killed, to save his life. She sobbed because she loved him as much as he loved her, and she couldn't bring herself to tell him.

His hand landed softly on the back of her head as she sat there curled up in her ball, crying hysterically into her knees and she felt her heart break a little bit. It was so soft, gentle on her hair. He was still there, caring about her and she had hurt him so badly. After a moment, her sobs quieted to hiccups and his hand slid away as he made his way back to his seat. Gently he uncurled her from her ball and brought her legs back to lay across his lap, his hand back on her now tear soaked knees. He slid the boots slowly off of her feet, exposing her toes to the cool morning air and they curled in instinctively in response.

She looked up at him as she brought her sleeve-covered hands up to wipe her face clean and he was still staring straight ahead, refusing to look at her, to meet her eye. She sniffled quietly as she regained control of her runaway emotions and she almost missed the whisper of a word that passed his almost still lips.

"Why?"

She looked at him and then down at her lap. It was such a simple little word, three letters, one syllable. Why? All of the possible responses and explanations whirled around in her mind.

She had been mad at him. She had practically begged him to say those words just days before; before Montgomery died, before Castle had betrayed her by dragging her out of that helicopter hanger, before she had been shot and broken and he hadn't. He couldn't say it while she was standing mostly whole in front of him but he could when she was lying broken, bleeding on the grass. It had been selfish of him to tell her then, when she lay dying. She had been scared about what it meant. She had been scared of that look in his eyes. Josh had just left her bedside and there he sat hopeful, practically pleading for her to feel the same way about him. Everyone around her was leaving or dying and there he was, still by her side. She had just wanted to push him away also, to make him leave her alone like the rest of them. If he left then he wouldn't get hurt too. If she pretended like she didn't remember he was easier to push away. She could build up that wall and hide inside of her fortress. If she didn't remember she didn't have to respond.

"Because I love you, too."


	4. Chapter 4

The Nine Lives of Katherine Beckett

A/N: Hello again everyone! I would just like to thank you all again for your love of this story and your kind reviews! I am still seriously overwhelmed at the response to this little fic.

I'm sorry it took a couple of days to get this chapter to you but I hope it is worth the wait. This is the end of this little story, but have no fear there is a preview of the sequel at the end of this chapter. Let me know what you think. Remember, reviews are love. ;)

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><p><span>Chapter 4<span>

He wanted to be mad at her. He wanted to shake her and scream. He wanted to yell at her and demand to know why; why she had lied to his face over and over, why she was telling him now? Why did she have to have that fucking wall up when all he wanted to do was tear it down? He could show her that it was okay to tear it down. She wouldn't get hurt with him; she didn't need it anymore. Why did she have to be so stubborn? He wanted to scream it to her— he had laid it all on the line and told her exactly how he felt and she _pretended_ that she didn't hear him? Like if she ignored it, then it would just go away? It didn't work like that. How could he be okay with that? How could he possibly forgive her?

He wanted to yell. What she did was not okay.

He paced, trying to find the right word to express his anger, his arms flailing in his silent rant. He could feel his heart racing in his chest and the heat rising up his neck. He was seriously pissed off. Only one person in this world could get him this upset and she was sitting on the couch right now… crying.

Rick stopped in his tracks and stared at the woman in front of him, curled up in an impossibly small ball, sobbing relentlessly into her knees. He felt himself deflate as he watched her. He had seen her cry before: pounding her fists against his chest as he held her against the car to keep her from dying with Montgomery, and pleading over Dick Coonan's lifeless body for his heart to start beating again. This was different; this was her crying for herself and her slowly breaking soul. This was the wall crashing down.

Slowly Castle stepped closer to her as he felt his anger slowly slip away, not completely, but enough so that he forgot for a moment that he was mad at her. He placed a hand on top of her head and stroked it like he would Alexis. Part of him wanted to gather her up in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay, that he forgave her, that he would love her always, but he didn't, he couldn't. With a sigh he plopped down on the couch next to her, reached over to slowly unwrap her arms from around her legs and pulled them back across his lap. He knew the minute she pulled herself together again she would be mortified for being there, for breaking down her tough façade, for allowing herself to feel. She would try to run and the moment would run with her. That moment which only came fleetingly— the moment when they could or couldn't. That moment they always missed or messed up. It was about to come back, and he would be damned if he let it pass again. He may be severely pissed off at her at the moment, but he still loved her. Damn it.

His movements were gentle, deliberate, like he was dealing with a spooked animal. She stiffened slightly under this touch and she raised her head to look at him with startled, tear-filled eyes. She sniffled softly and hiccupped out one last choked sob. She watched him with silent wonder as he pulled her boots off and let them fall to the floor one by one with a soft thump. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, too stubborn and pride still too hurt to let his head turn towards her. He waited while she wiped the shining tears off of her cheeks and sniffled slightly again into her sleeve. He watched while her chin crumpled once again and she took a deep breath to stifle the next impending onslaught of tears.

The question repeated over and over in his head as he sat staring into the dim living room. Finally he heard it as his vocal cords vibrated to life and the word left his lips barely above a whisper.

"Why?"

Why did she lie to him over and over? Why did she tell him now? Why was she the one crying? Why couldn't he stay angry? Why couldn't he just throw her and her commitment issues out of his apartment and out of his life? Why didn't he just tell her that they were through and that he never wanted to see her again? Why did he have to love her so completely?

Why?

Rick felt his heart jump and stomach plummet as five simply complex words floated to his ears. Those words he had been dying, hoping, wishing, and praying to hear for months.

"Because I love you, too."

His head fell back to rest on the back of the couch as his eyes drifted shut. The remaining anger in his gut battled with the joy in his heart and the exhaustion fighting to take over his brain and limbs. Time slipped away as he tried to sort through the myriad of thoughts and emotions racing through his tired mind. He could feel his thoughts slow and bleed together as all his remaining energy drained away. He let his head lull to the side and blinked his eyes open to look at her. Her fingers were playing nervously with each other as she stared past him and softly chewed on her bottom lip. She used to do that all of the time around him; her nervous, shy habit. He hadn't seen her do it in a while. She had gotten comfortable with the teasing and the flirting. Instead of biting her lip she had started to play along.

She was scared, but at least she wasn't running.

Her eyes gazed past him to stare out the window into the world beyond their little cocoon. He wondered briefly what she saw when she was staring out there. He was almost positive she didn't actually see the city. He watched her for long seconds. Her mane of messy curls fell carelessly in front of her tear-stained, blotchy face and tired, terrified eyes. Despite everything, he still thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world— inside and out.

Slowly he ran his hand down her shin to get her attention and she jolted back to reality, meeting his eyes with a soft questioning hum. He could see the exhaustion in her eyes, mirroring his own weary state.

Silently he tugged her down further on the couch and slipped slowly to lie behind her as she rolled on her side to face the room beyond the little world they had built on the sofa. He felt her sigh softly as he wrapped an arm over her middle and burrowed his hand under her jacket to rest on the soft skin of her stomach.

"You aren't mad?"

Her voice was quiet but strong as her hand came up to grip his arm that lay under her neck and nuzzled her head against his hand.

"Oh, I'm furious."

"Then, why?"

He left a gentle, lingering kiss against her temple before lowering his lips to hover over her ear.

"Always, remember?"

Her breath hitched in her chest and she nodded against his hand. He could feel her lips twist into a smile as she pressed a kiss into his palm.

"Always."

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><p>Fin.<p>

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><p>Preview:<p>

The Eight Deaths of Richard Castle

She crept out of the room, pausing as the door quietly slipped shut behind her. She listened for any sign of movement from the bed she had just left and let out a small sigh of relief at the silence that answered her. With practiced feet she darted across the living room on her tip toes, the tail of Rick's button down shirt flapping gently against the back of her naked thighs as she went. A small smile graced her lips and laughter glinted in her eyes. He had been teasing her for the last month with torturous hints about the plot of his latest novel and she had had enough. She wanted to know and all she could get out of him were cryptic responses and an impish grin. So, really, her actions were justified she rationalized as she made her way through the open door of his office and stood in front of his fictional murder board.

She was the inspiration for Nikki Heat. She deserved to know what mess her alter ego was about to get herself into.

She bit her lip gently to suppress her grin as she finished rationalizing her uncharacteristically devious behavior, and bounced on the balls of her feet as her finger tapped gently on the screen. Her stomach fluttered softly as her picture appeared in front of her and she paused to glance around as her finger continued to hover over the photo. Satisfied that she was still alone and the rest of the apartment was still asleep she let her finger press against the monitor once more.

That same flutter in her stomach churned into a nauseating pit as she stumbled back to sink into her favorite chair. Her eyes never left the faces staring back at her. The faces that haunted her dreams and lived in her nightmares. She could feel the shock rush through her body and the bile rise in her throat.

Why would he? How could he?

She was going to kill him.


End file.
